6:56 to Durango on High
by Tom and Shizzlemah
Summary: Sophomore year has been doing a number on the boys, and their friendships lie in shambles while romance sparks where hatred used to dwell and romance dies in favor of carnal pleasures. Can a road trip and a little more high school solve their problem?
1. Look How Far We've Come

_**-Chapter One, Part One.- **_

He couldn't put a precise number on the years he'd known Cartman. It had been since preschool, at least, but if he were honest with himself, Kyle couldn't remember a time without Cartman. Not a single day in which he'd been free of Jewish jokes and a rivalry which developed into a very intimate kind of hatred for one another. It became a sort of synchronized friendship by junior high, albeit a very hatred-filled kind of friendship. They knew when to lay off the insults. They knew when to hug and make up, and when it was time to boost their own confidence by their squabbles. Each knew the other's boundaries so well that they could keep one another and themselves happy, because they were so closely bonded by their mutual dislike. By the time high school rolled around, they knew when it was time to fit their lips together to stop the other from screaming.

The thing that Kyle was beginning to realize about their brief, forceful 'shut up, dude, seriously, don't hurt yourself' kisses was that he absolutely hated kissing Cartman. The first kiss wasn't that bad. Over a video game controller and taking themselves too seriously. Cartman began it. Kyle always thought he would end it as soon as the kiss began, but there was something in the extreme distaste for the kiss that just… drew him to grip for Cartman's coat, tangle his fingers in the fabric and draw him in harsher.

And the more he hated the kiss, the more this tingling that traveled like electricity through his abdomen, and recently he hated every kiss more and more. Every touch between them became something like far-too-emotional tingling. "Fag", "Fatass", "Jew". All of them had taken on a certain affectionate rivalry-like quality. Something that hinted on nurturing rather than tearing one another down. It was a selfishly vicious cycle, their constant fights, but in the end, they'd always meet at the lips and remind one another how much they hated each other. It was just that "I hate you" had taken on a vastly different meaning.

Kyle's eyes slipped open, chills running down the backs of his arms. That wasn't something he was supposed to think about after having just woken up. He closed his eyes again, thinking about how he felt no different than any other morning. Thinking about how vastly different everything had become since fourth grade. Since kindergarten. Since setting his teacher on fire and getting HIV and spending days pretending to be superheroes, fighting creatures that may or may not have been imaginary. He missed the days of Imaginationland and fixing the internet. He shook his head, opened his eyes again, pulled on a shirt and pants and his hat without brushing his bushy hair back down. Something was wrong, something was going to go wrong. He was certain of this. What threw him, though, was that he felt no different from any other days. Whenever Kyle thought something bad was going to happen, it was almost always accompanied by a feeling of dread.

Kyle shook his head and walked to the bathroom to finish his morning routine. No matter. Something probably wouldn't happen.

Kyle's bike was out back, and since the high school didn't provide bus services for South Park, it was his only mode of transport, despite the imminent threat of an early November snow. As he rolled out of the yard on the beat up bike, Ike bounced up from behind the gate, pulling on his gloves.

"Kyle! Kyle!"

"Fuck. What do you want, Ike?"

"Come on. You go to the bus stop anyway… let's go together." Ike shuffled a little, boot kicking the remnants of last month's snow. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"No way." He swung a leg over his bike, looking back at his eight year old brother.

"You walk too slow."

"Fag," Ike muttered as Kyle took off, toward the old bus stop, a childhood he'd never really had the guts to leave behind.

The quartet still met at the bus stop before school, despite it being rather far from the high school. Kyle was the first there, and hopped off his bike while it was still rolling, then leaned it against the sign, waiting. Humming. It was Kenny that showed up first, blonde hair free of his hoodie, slung down over his shoulders but still covering his mouth and the thick orange cloth he'd tied over it. A playboy magazine slung under his arm fell to the grimy snow and he pulled his bike to an abrupt halt to hop off and grab it, shaking it free of grime. He looked over at Kyle.

"Oheymdnmehstsuo?" he mumbled through the cloth. Kyle blinked, shaking his head.

It had become harder and harder to understand Kenny since fourth grade. Maybe it was that his ears were maturing, maybe that the new smell on Kenny's clothes was some sort of drug that made him slur his words, or alcohol, maybe just that Kyle had stopped listening so hard. It took him a minute to comprehend what Kenny was saying.

"Nothing's really up, Kenny. Just waiting for the fatass. The usual."

"Thsayacooleansit. Thiektheuregonnrrldutshfin?"

"Probably… they're usually la—"

"Hey, guys. Sorry it took so long." Stan had the silent bike. The one that had seemingly magic powers not to make a sound over the cement sidewalks of South Park. Or maybe it was just that all of the other boys' bikes were so shitty.

"Heusanph," Kenny burbled. Stan smiled, nodding at him, and Stan paused a moment, then nodded back, walking over to steal the playboy.

"Nice one. The new one?"

"Yeph."

Kyle leaned against the signpost, casting his eyes across the street while Kenny 'ooh'ed and 'ah'ed about their scantily clad girls. Now was the time he let his mind wander. Waiting for Cartman because god forbid one of them be late to school if all of them weren't.

It was usually Cartman that was late. And usually it was Cartman Kyle thought about. Though not always. He just let his mind drift in post-sleep grogginess. Scanned the thoughts in his brain.

Slowly his mind returned to the way 'I hate you' had become a very close facsimile to 'I like you.' How Cartman's first name sent shivers down Kyle's spine more than his last one. How 'fatass' had become so affectionate in his head, it was nearly sickly sweet.

There was something about dating out of the quartet that seemed wholely unappealing to Kyle. It was only those three that had shared all of his adventures. All of his inside jokes. Sure there had been other kids that popped in and out; Butters, and Tweek, and Wendy. But none of them knew everything. None of them were part of the secret group that shared Kyle's heart and soul.

But thinking back at middle school, at porn magazines stolen from the other boys and images offline, Kyle wasn't sure he was gay. Not really. It was more that Cartman, Stan, and Kenny shared his lifeblood. If they'd have been girls on his adventures, he would have had the same preference toward them above others as he did now.

Kyle wouldn't mind dating any of them, not really. He didn't have particularly romantic feelings toward any of them, save those… odd things that went along with little actions of all three of the others. Perhaps put together, they'd make the perfect person for Kyle, but, no, he wasn't supposed to be thinking about romance now. He was supposed to be thinking about his school work. The economics class he was failing. The fact that he didn't have any classes with the other boys. The fact that everything seemed to be getting worse. The fact that this morning was no different from any other morning.

Cartman's bike lurched into place next to Kyle's hip.

"Hey, Jew."

"Hey, fatass," Kyle replied, turning to look at Cartman.

"I hate you," Cartman said.

"I hate you, too," Kyle returned. They shared the tiniest smile, then it defused into a glare on both sides, a spiteful head bob before they were on their way to school. Kyle's heart sped a little.

Economics class. Failing. Getting worse. No different. Those were the things he was supposed to be thinking about.

South Park Senior High School stood at the head of the road, a proud, sinister building with quirky teachers and at least thirty bike racks out front. They were mountain kids. Expected to bike to school.

Kyle parked his bike before the other boys, his first class at one end of the building while the other boys entered through the lobby to see if they could scrounge up some breakfast from Butters or another unsuspecting student.

The day began rather normal. His economics class had a sub, one notorious for giving A's in participation and anything they did in class as long as no one interrupted her and a student didn't break any laws, so Kyle slept most of first period, and through second he could barely keep awake, groggy from the hour and a half he'd spent sleeping in first period. Third was spent avoiding Wendy Testaburger, who had some bone to pick with the group, as always, and Kyle was not in the mood for dealing with it.

The thing was; he didn't feel different, but he was acting different. Like… everything he did was tinged in a very thin, transparent layer of gold. He felt… floaty, almost.

Lunch beckoned, and the table at the edge of the cafeteria. Same one as always. He was the second to settle, after Kenny, who was nonchalantly flicking through his playboy again.

"You're… kind of a slut, Kenny," he muttered, watching the blonde.

"Anftiouewkingoffafqpg."

"Fuck you, Kenny."

"Inpyouvlovrtp."

"Whatever. Where are Cartman and Stan?"

"Helligiknopgh."

"You're confrontational today."

"Sodytyou."

"Hey. No I'm not."

"Yourealtare,didph."

"Fine. Whatever. I'll go talk to Butters, then." Kyle picked his tray up and stalked across the cafeteria, then stopped halfway through, blinking, eyes wide. Wow. He'd just been kind of an asshole. He looked over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kenny!"

Kenny was already gone, though. Kyle sighed, and walked over to Butters.

Butters had grown out of his baby fat rather well. His well shaped cheeks were usually flushed, and his mouth usually curved in a friendly beam.

"I kinda… pissed Kenny off. Can I eat with you, Butters?"

"Of course. I'll always offer a seat to a friend, Kyle," Butters responded, voice still scratchy as when he was a child, retaining his almost nasal quality. Blonde hair brushed the back of his neck with a certain feminine finesse that gave more to be examined than just 'bi-curious' tended to imply.

Kyle smiled, relaxing. So far he'd only managed to piss two people off today. Kenny and Cartman. He pulled his hat down a little.

"Aw hamburgers. I forgot to ask. Are you going to the concert in Denver tomorrow? It's not much money, and I heard you have a job at the community center. Tweek, Craig, Bebe and I are going."

"Sure. Why not?"

_**-Part One. End.-**_

_**Tom Ice:**_ _Oh goodness. Hello. I'm working on this. I promise. I keep getting distracted, but I am. Erm… comments on the chapter thusfar. _

_I really like typing for Kenny. It's pecking without looking. I used to be able to do it perfectly, but I can't anymore and it keeps coming out with 'ph' at the end. Which is chill, 'cuz he's talking through a cloth. _

_So yeah. I'm using Butters as my third POV character. And I need to know what to do with him. What conflict to stick him with and all that jazz. Erm… Yup. _

_Oh. One more note. I'm sorry about the excessive use of stray dogs in the two fics I'm currently writing. In "Breathing in the Atmosphere", though, the stray dog is more of a lost soul. Friendly, but off in the clouds. She's a wild, but friendly creature, with much more… of a chance than this stray. The stray in Atmosphere can easily be saved, and she's a lot like Gamzee in that way. She just needs some gentle care and attention. The stray here, though. He's a shy, gentle dog, who, when pushed too far can easily snap. And such things result in disaster._

_**-Chapter One, Part Two.- **_

Kenny liked people. A lot. He liked watching people without them noticing him. He liked being a bit of the behind the scenes chaos of the insane quartet. That didn't mean that Kenny was not prone to selfishness.

The little spat between Kyle and him hadn't really pissed him off. Just given him an excuse to leave the lunch room to flick through the glossy pages of this month's playboy and sip at one of the school's shitty, but still cheap school coffee. He sighed, pushed his hood back over his head, and shivered slightly in the early November chill.

Kenny was, and always had been rather shy. He liked being able to dodge the cafeteria sometimes, despite his friends being there. But it seemed Kyle and Cartman were feuding more viciously than normal and Kenny wasn't really interested in being a part of that. He just wanted to hang out and play video games and make his friends happy. There was just not much he could do around Cartman. He, like many others, was the tiniest bit scared of him, and more than the tiniest bit pissed off at him most of the time. Kenny had forgotten why they were friends in the first place, honestly. It never quite made sense to him, why anyone would be friends with Cartman.

But then came the times when Cartman did something wonderful. Did something to make the boys forgive him entirely. He was like that. Kenny was not. Kenny wasn't sure why he'd ever made friends with the quartet. He didn't like being close to people, not really. He didn't like obligations, but through his shyness, Cartman, Kyle, and Stan had all broken through to his heart and given him an intense need to make them all happy.

Which was why Kyle acting so upset today had set him off. His heart pounded softly in his chest.

There was a certain level of anxiety that went along with being so entrenched in wanting to make his friends happy. What if Kyle was growing up? What if he was growing out of the group? It was... terrifying to think of. What if one day they wouldn't all be friends anymore?

They wouldn't. Kenny knew that, but he kept lying to himself. If he lied to himself enough, the lies would, possibly, eventually stay true. He just didn't want his friends to leave him.

"Ngg! Kenny!" Tweek sat next to him, a quivering ball of twitches and tics.

"Wharisiph?" Kenny asked, adjusting the cloth over his mouth and nose, though the layer of fluff at his hoodie also muffled the sound.

"W-we were-Gah!- going to uh-uh... nggg. W-we w-were going to a-ngg- concert in OH SWEET JESUS uh... D-Denver. B-butters wanted t-to know if-OHGOD- you uh... wanted to... gah! come?" Kenny watched him, an eyebrow disappearing behind the fluff at the top of his hoodie.

"Whatkinfofcpndet?"

"Jesus! I-I don't-t know!"

"Idonythsabryjrpntigptoy."

"Wh-what? Oh! Nggg! B-Butters said he'd gah! pay for y-your ticket. Jesus!" Kenny gave him a long, level look, which Tweek quivered under.

Kenny wasn't sure if Tweek had gotten worse or better, but his bet was on worse, because no one ever got better in South Park, not really. You could get worse, you could get different, but it was extremely difficult to get better unless you escaped the confines of that little town. Tweek smiled.

"Oh jesus! Can I ngg go now?" He trembled harder.

"I'kktyjonldnpityit."

"You'll think about gah! What?"

"Thecpryuph."

"Oh! Nggg. J-just tell Butters by gah! The end of the nggg day! Ohjesus."

Kenny nodded, standing up and stowing his magazine in his backpack and shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Telfimi'mbhoinh,thrn,I'mgiubgiomtph."

"O-oh! Okay!" Tweek scurried off while Kenny made his way around the front of the building, shaking his head. Everyone was too emotionally tied up right now. The way Wendy Testaburger was having problems with Stan kept setting his friend off, and then there was that weirdness between Kyle and Cartman. Kenny couldn't stand for that right now. He had bigger things to worry about. Or one very small, very weak one to worry about.

The bike ride home was a moderately long one, but Kenny didn't mind. He took it instead of his family's beat up car. His dad needed to get to work and gas cost too much for him to afford anyway, even on his part time salary. He opened the door without any greeting, knowing his parents and brother would be gone at this time of day.

Kenny slid up the stairs, and peaked around the doorway to his sister's room. She lay in bed, shoulders shaking, head pressed into the pillow. He moved onward to his own room quickly, changing into his new set of violet clothes, his newly made hood with a newly made question mark. He tied his mask around his eyes and pulled his hood up. The question mark was backwards, but no time to reglue it now. He climbed out his own window to climb into his sister's again. Sitting on her bed, he placed a green gloved hand on her shoulder. She rolled to face him.

"Mysterion," she whimpered. One arm looped around his neck, pulled him down into a hug.

"You told your mother and father you were sick," he rasped, returning her hug, "You're not sick."

"No." She buried her face in his shoulder. And through the overlap of cape and shirt, he could still feel the slightest dampness. He hugged her a little tighter.

"Tell me what's wrong, Karen."

"I don't wanna talk about it," she murmured, fingers clawing against his shirt. He just held her, letting her dampen his shoulder.

See, this was what he cared about. He was sick of his friends' romance. Romance only ever served one purpose to him; sex. And sex was nice, but it didn't compare to family. Not to Karen, at least. Even if she didn't know 'Mysterion' was 'Kenny'. Maybe she did, but still. This gave him an excuse just to sit with her for hours and make her feel okay. Make her know that even if no one else in the world was there for her, he was, and he wasn't going anywhere.

_**-Part Two. End.-**_

_**Tom Ice: **__Well. That's chapter one. Now, dear reader, I need a little help. I need to figure out what to do with Butters, who will be my third POV character. Throw any damn suggestion out there. While this is going to mainly be a romance story, it doesn't have to have anything to do with romance. I mean… lookit Kenny. He's definitely not romantically involved in the story. Anything works, honestly. I just need to know what kind of conflict I should give Butters. _

_On another note, erm… tell me what you think. I always love to hear from a reader. Have a nice day. _


	2. Demolition Lovers

_**-Chapter Two, Part One.—**_

The doorbell rang. Kyle jumped up from his place slumped, lazily brushing his teeth in front of the television, running to the bathroom to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth and drop his toothbrush in the sink.

"Ike, get the door, you little shit," he called upstairs before dipping his head to rinse out his mouth.

"Okay, fag," Ike called back, running downstairs to open the door. Kyle ducked out of the bathroom, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. His shoulders slumped when he saw Cartman standing there, adjusting sunglasses. He smiled that devious smile of his and Kyle glared, a shiver running down his spine.

"Fatass," he greeted.

"Oh. I wasn't expecting to see you here, Jew."

"Cartman, this is my house."

Cartman looked around. "Touche." He was staring at Kyle's face. Kyle blushed a tiny bit, then shook his head, pushing the trembles down.

"What're you looking at, asshole?"

"Well, Kyle. It seems you've gone rabid."

"What?" Kyle looked at him, confused.

"You see, you're foaming at the mouth."

Kyle glared at him, rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth again.

"At least I actually brush my teeth, moron."

"You missed your foam." Cartman reached out, a gloved finger gently flicking the toothpaste from Kyle's lip. Kyle backpedaled slightly, shaking his head.

"What are you here for, fatass?"

"I just thought we could… you know, hang out, Kyle. That's all I want."

"Stop acting like some goddamn angel. There's always an ulterior motive with you."

"Oh. Well you're being a sissybitch today anyway."

"What'd you just say, dude?" Kyle asked, muscles tensing.

"That you're being a sissybitch, Kyle," his always matter-of-fact tone only serving to stretch Kyle's nerves further. His hand clenched into a fist.

"So, are we going to go upstairs?" Cartman asked, as if he didn't notice Kyle's trembling anger. Kyle's fist slammed into his cheek, and Cartman stumbled back a few feet, a whine welling in his throat. Kyle glared at him.

"I hate you." Kyle's breath came heavy in his throat. Cartman pulled off his sunglasses, looking straight into Kyle's eyes. Kyle froze.

"Yeah, man, let's go upstairs," he murmured, casting his eyes down and away. He couldn't stand up to that gaze. Cartman led him upstairs, opening Kyle's door without any invitation. There was something controlling about Cartman's eyes. Something he had problems saying no to.

Cartman sat on the bed while Kyle walked over to the desk he'd outgrown years ago and sat in the small chair, facing him.

"So. I heard you and Stan…" Cartman trailed off, hand on his chin.

"We what, fatass?" Kyle didn't like the look Cartman was giving him at all. The pensive thinking look. The scheming look. The 'Cartman-is-probably-going-to-kill-someone-in-the-near-future' look. His stomach flopped a little. Fear or something else, he wasn't sure.

"Are you fags for each other, Kyle?"

Kyle jumped, eyes widening. "Absolutely not! I'm straight, fatass."

Cartman rubbed his chin, humming a little, then gave a little, intrigued, "Yes, supposedly you are."

"If you're only here to accuse me of being a fag, get out, right the fuck now," Kyle said, lacing his words with a certain kind of venom. The thing was, Cartman looked genuinely pained. Kyle blinked, walking over and putting a hand on Cartman's shoulder, tentative.

"Hey, dude, are you okay?" Cartman just stared at the place on the chair where Kyle had been sitting before.

"Dude?" No response.

"Fatass? Fatass, what's wrong?" Cartman twitched the slightest bit. Kyle blinked. His hand on Cartman's shoulder fell to his arm, holding the fabric. Slowly, Cartman turned to look at Kyle. Kyle blinked. Cartman's eyes were warm. Hot. Smoldering like coal in a fire. Kyle bit his lip as Cartman slowly leaned in. It wasn't the first time Cartman kissed him out of nowhere, but Kyle certainly hated it above all of the other times. His hand rose to the back of Cartman's neck, though, and he leaned into the kiss, hatred and something not so prickly but just as tingly roaring in his stomach and tickling his diaphragm. Slowly, they both pulled away.

"Jew," Cartman said curtly, "You have very nice lips."

Kyle blinked, tearing backward, eyes wide. Never before had there been compliments given after a kiss. It was always "I hate you" or "Fuck off."

Kyle gritted his teeth. "And you call me the fag."

"Once every million years or so," Cartman began whimsically, "A god falls in love with a mortal."

Kyle blinked. "Where are you going with this?" he asked, nervous. He tugged at one side of his hat.

"What I'm saying, Kyle, is that you are a mortal. And I am a god."

"Oh god. Oh god. Fatass. Get out. Get out right the fuck now," Kyle murmured, pointing at the door, eyes wide, trembling. Cartman looked a little hurt, but Kyle, still shivering, just kept pointing.

"Get out, Eric. Get out right now."

Cartman slowly stood up, turning to the door, and leaving. Kyle shivered, falling sideways on his bed, face flushed. He squirmed, then was still, mind reeling. He felt like vomiting. His lips burned. He licked at them, wiped at them with his sleeve, but the burning just subsided into tingling at his lips and as he thought, it all came up to a blur of sentence fragments. _He… no. He can't. There's no way Eric… Eric fucking Cartman. Eric Fucking Cartman. Fucking Eric Fucking Cartman Fuck. He doesn't care. He's just… He's playing a trick. This is sick. This is a joke. Fuck him. _

It just made Kyle hate him ten times more, but there was a stirring in the base of his stomach. It curled upward, leafing out into his diaphragm and his ribs, which jumped with something entirely new. He shook his head and pushed his face into a pillow and screamed. He screamed until his lungs didn't have enough oxygen to scream anymore and he went a little dizzy in the head. Finally, Ike pushed himself through Kyle's bedroom door. He sat down next to Kyle, pulling his hat off and pulling the pillow free of his face.

"Kyle, it's okay," he murmured, laying down next to his brother and situating the pillow under both of their heads. Kyle's eyes met Ike's and Ike smiled, comfortingly. Kyle's arms quickly dragged his brother to his chest, almost tight enough that Ike whimpered in pain, but not quite. Ike stayed put.

"It's not," Kyle murmured after a long moment.

"What'd that fatass do to you?" Ike muttered, glaring out the door. Kyle's glare matched his.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just… stay here, okay, Ike?" Ike nodded. There was a long moment of silence as Kyle sat there and tried to turn Ike into a stress ball and failed miserably, then, finally, he said something.

"Say something, Ike. Anything." Ike thought for a moment.

"There's a girl I like." Kyle smiled.

"Tell me about her."

"Okay. She's funny. And smart. And sweet. But she's really poor. And she'd never ever like me. I'm not a superhero."

Kyle smiled. Taking his mind off of something would help. Ike was smaller than Kyle had been at ten. Which made him almost the perfect size. Kyle stood up and walked over to his closet, stepping in to dig around in debris scattered there from years of paying it little attention. The costume he pulled out wasn't battered or bent in the slightest, though.

"She wants a superhero, dude? I've got exactly what you need."

The boy's eyes followed him as he slid the first bit of Human Kite clothing onto Ike. It only took five more to dress Ike completely.

"So, little buddy. She wants a superhero. She can have the best of them all. Let's consider it a Broflovski tradition. You may now call yourself the Human Kite," he said, much happier than five minutes before. "Now go off and save some lives and leave your brother to deal with his own romance bullshit, dude." Ike nodded, beaming and rushing out the door, nearly not fitting because of his kite.

A little more happy after his brother popped in, Kyle sat back on his bed, still confused, resting his forehead in the palms of his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers slowly moved to rub his temples, and he let out a deep breath. His phone cut through the silence remaining after Ike left. The voice on the other line after he picked up was low and calm.

"Kyle Broflovski," Craig said.

"Craig. Hey, dude. I was wondering, where's everyone meeting for the Twitterpire concert. And how many cars are we going to need?"

"Just one. It'll be Tweek, Kenny, you and I. Bebe found out she has some student council work and Butters got grounded for something. We're meeting at school and taking my car. Can you be there in twenty?"

"Yeah, dude. I... I'll be there soon."

Kyle sighed, sitting up and stuffing a change of clothes and his wallet, phone, and camera into his bag. Glancing over at his bedside table, he opened the drawer and stuffed a condom into his pocket. On the off chance. Though he doubted anything would happen. He doubted he could get the image of Cartman's face when he said _that_ out of his head. He shivered and pulled off his shirt to change into something more suitable for the concert.

Climbing into the driver's seat of Craig's '87 Corona, Kyle looked at the back seat, where Craig had opted to sit, his legs given barely any room by the 'travel sized' but still giant guinea pig cage in the footwell behind the driver's seat.

Stripes, Craig's guinea pig had died shortly after the rodent had had a few pups. Two of three pups died, but after a month of depression, Craig decided to rear the third, a strong little guinea pig named Swirls, as he had with Stripes. Which meant never leaving the damn thing alone. Kyle was stuck driving because he was the only one familiar enough with ancient sputtering engines to drive it. Tweek was curled up in the back seat, twitching as he watched the guinea pig in Craig's lap with interest somewhere between fear and absolute curiosity. Craig gave the tiniest stoic smile at the appreciation of his pet and Kyle felt the slightest pang of guilt, feeling as though he should remember something guinea pig related but didn't. He started up the car as Kenny climbed in.

"Do you-nnsg- know where we're going?" Tweek asked, trembling. Kyle nodded, sighing.

"I know where we're going, don't get all paranoid, Tweek," Kyle said, shifting into gear and driving out of the school parkinglot. Kenny pulled out his playboy, now ratty and looking as though it had been soaked through.

"Kenny," Kyle muttered. Kenny looked up at him.

"Whfu?" Kyle rolled his eyes, keeping them on the road and reached over to pull the cloth in front of Kenny's mouth down. Kenny blushed, pushing the hand away.

"Keep it down, we're with friends in a car where no one else can hear you. It's fine." Kenny sighed and nodded, eyes downcast and remaining on the dashboard.

"What'd you do to that damn magazine? Take it in the bath with you?" Kyle asked, smiling again.

"The rain seeped through the ceiling last night," Kenny murmured. Kyle blinked.

"How is everything in your house not moldy by now?"

"It is." Kenny's face went dull and he looked out the window.

"Oh..." Kyle shut his mouth, and kept it shut for the next hour or so before finally turning back to Craig, who was sitting next to Tweek while both of them fed Swirls lettuce, Tweek gleefully, Craig stoic as ever.

"Have any music, dude?" Craig blinked and handed Swirls to Tweek, reaching over the seat to open the glove box. Kenny leaned in and rifled through it. Kyle cast a glance at the cd-player which seemed frankensteined into the dashboard as Kenny slid a Twitterpires CD into it. It struck Kyle that he'd never actually heard this band he was going to see. Just that Kenny and Stan loved it, as did a lot of the boys at their school. Kyle sat back, eyes on the road as his brain chewed thoughtfully on the music. At first, it didn't seem good at all. Bland. Weird for a bunch of high school boys to be obsessing over, but as the final hour or so of a drive took them to the parkinglot near the building where a line was forming in the dusky just-after-sunset glow, he realized that it was an acquired taste. One he really enjoyed.

The sign arched over the two sets of double doors into the dark of the concert hall and Kenny smiled slightly, pulling the cloth up over his nose again as they stood there. Craig paid for his ticket, and Kenny's, and they shared a nod that basically meant, at least on Kenny's part, 'I owe you one.' Inside, everything was turmoil. Bumbling bodies, mostly teenagers. After a moment, Kyle had lost the others, only the faintest idea of where they were from Tweek's constant squeaking which soon faded into the crowd sounds anyway.

_**-Part One, End.—**_

_Tom Ice: Well hello there, reviewer o.o It's very nice to meet you, Ilandere Okami. And thank you so so so much for such a kind review. On another note, I think I know what will be happening with Kenny and Butters and such. Angst is fun, isn't it? -chuckle- Anyway. Thank you for the kind words, and Shizzlemah, thank you for making me write this, and uh... I won't keep you waiting long. Here. Have Butters' part. _

_**-Chapter Two, Part Two.—**_

Butters had always pegged himself as a nervous fellow, not as bad as that Tweek Tweak, but he was nervous. Especially around Eric Cartman. But everyone was nervous around Eric, Butters figured. After all, he was a crazy man. Butters Scotch had grown comfortably into his blonde hair and soft face, and had decided that he was possibly the bi-curious man most called a faggot in the world. Which resulted in everyone coming to him whenever they had a gay crush or a gay fantasy or, in some peoples' cases, just romance problems. Butters immediately recognized the look on Cartman's face when he opened the door and he sighed.

"I'm gr-grounded," he hissed.

"I don't care, fag," Cartman muttered, but it wasn't in his eyes. The anger sparking there had been replaced by the splotches on his cheeks and redness in the whites of his eyes. Butters sighed.

"My parents are out for dinner. Y-you have an hour, fella. Come on upstairs." He led Eric upstairs, sitting down on his bed. Eric sat next to him, and buried his face in his hands.

"Which guy d-did you spill your guts to?" Butters asked.

"How do you know it's a... it's a guy, Butters?"

"Because you wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Of course. A fag goes to a fag for advice. Makes sense."

"Sh-shut up, Eric-c. J-just get on with your story. What happened?"

Eric sighed. "I told the Jew I love him. He flipped his shit. I don't know why. He should be happy with himself."

"Did you ever thin-nk he m-might be a bit confused?"

Eric shook his head and laid back on Butters' bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"It... it's a bit unlike you to be s-so concerned."

"I'm not concerned!"

"I won't tell anyone if you are."

"I'm still not concerned. Not really."

A long silence.

"He's he's s-such a nice fella and all. I don't see why y'all can't be together. He likes ya. I really think he likes ya."

Eric shook his head. "If you're so smart, explain what I should do, fag."

"W-wait. Just w-wait, Eric."

"Waiting is gay."

Butters shook his head. "I'm going to go buy some soda pop." He stood up, not really caring about leaving Eric alone in his room. Eric seemed like a man in high cotton, and even if he was dumber than a stump, he could manage if he wanted to stay in Butters' room. Otherwise he'd leave. Butters was hoping the latter. Becuase Eric scared him a little.

"Okay," Eric said after a long bit of deliberation.

Butters slid out of the room, grabbing his wallet. He'd become less caring about the groundings over the years. Mostly just used them as an excuse not to have friends over. He needed alone time, and that came only a bitty bit, or scarce as a hen's teeth, depending on the day. He high tailed it to the convenience store a few blocks from his house and bought his soda pop, then sat outside on the block for a moment, popping the cap off and taking a swig of sweet liquid. A girl was sitting a small distance away, and he nodded to her.

"I-I've seen y'all around. Why are you sittin' all the way out-t a st-tones throw away from me. Come over here, an' talk-k. Y-you're Kenny's little sis, right?" Karen looked up, nodding and wiping a few tears out of her eyes. She nodded and moved a little closer, though stayed an arm's length away.

"What-t's wrong?" Butters asked.

"Boys. School. And Kenny's out," Karen murmured, rubbing her eyes free of tears. Butters grabbed a hankerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

"It-t's okay. S-so tell me about-t this b-boy, now you've got me plumb exc-cited to hear about him."

Karen sighed and launched into a story a mile long and just as confusing, but Butters nodded, giving her what little advice he could. He noticed the black eye and he sighed. Sometimes he wished he were Mysterion. So he could comfort people without any obligation. Under complete disguise. Then it struck him. Was there something wrong with supervillains doing just the same?

_**-Part Two, End.—**_

_Tom Ice: Oh my. I just realized how horrid I am at writing both Butters and Cartman. I'm sorry, reader. –sigh- I'll try harder next time. Also, I pulled out the stops on my knowledge of the southern way of talkin' for Part Two and will continue to do so for Butters. Thank you for the support, readers, and all suggestions, questions, anything, will be taken into account and responded to~ Thanks for reading. Yours, Tom. _


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